But the fayre tresses of your golden hayre,)
Breaking his prison, forth to you doth fly.
Lyke as a byrd, that in ones hand doth spy
Desired food, to it doth make his flight:
Even so my hart, that wont on your fayre
To feed his fill, flyes backe unto your sight.
Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright
Gently encage, that he may be your thrall:
Perhaps he there may learne, with rare de-
light,
To sing your name and prayses over-all:
That it hereafter may you not repent,
Him lodging in your bosome to have lent.
Most happy letters! fram'd by skilfull trade,
With which that happy name was first desynd,
The which three times thrise happy hath me
made,
With guifts of body, fortune, and of mind.
The first my being to me gave by kind,
From mothers womb deriv'd by dew descent:
The second is my sovereigne Queene most
kind,
That honour and large richesse to me lent:
The third, my love, my lifes last ornament,
By whom my spirit out of dust was raysed:
To speake her prayse and glory excellent,
Of all alive most worthy to be praysed.
Ye three Elizabeths! for ever live,
That three such graces did unto me give.
One day I wrote her name upon the strand;
But came the waves, and washed it away:
Agayne, I wrote it with a second hand;
But came the tyde, and made my paynes his
pray.
Lackyng my love, I go from place to place,
Lyke a young fawne, that late hath lost the
hynd;
[face,
And seeke each where, where last I sawe her
Whose ymage yet I carry fresh in mynd.
I seeke the fields with her late footing synd;
I seeke her bowre with her late presence
deckt,
[assay Yet nor in field nor bowre I her can fynd;
Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect:
But, when myne eyes I thereunto direct,
They ydly back returne to me agayne:
And, when I hope to see theyr trew object,
I fynd my selfe but fed with fancies vayne.
Ceasse then, myne eyes, to seeke her selfe to
Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine
A mortall thing so to immortalize;
For I my selve shall lyke to this decay,
And eek my name bee wyped out lykewize.
Not so, quod I; let baser things devize
To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame:
My verse your vertues rare shall eternize,
And in the hevens wryte your glorious name.
Where, whenas death shall all the world
subdew,
Our love shall live, and later life renew.
Fayre bosome! fraught with vertues richest
tresure,
The neast of love, the lodging of delight,
The bowre of blisse, the paradice of pleasure,
The sacred harbour of that hevenly spright;
And let my thoughts behold her selfe in mee.
Mn call you fayre, and you doe credit it,
For that your selfe ye dayly such doe see:
But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit,
And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of
For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, [me:
Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious
But onely that is permanent and free [hew;
From frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew.
That is true beautie: that doth argue you
To be divine, and borne of heavenly seed;
Deriv'd from that fayre Spirit, from whom al
And perfect beauty did at first proceed: He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath made;
All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely fade.
After so long a race as I have run
Through Faery land, which those six books
compile,
Give leave to rest me being halfe fordonne,
And gather to myselfe new breath awhile.
Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle,
Out of my prison I will breake anew;
And stoutly will that second worke assoyle,
With strong endevour and attention dew.
Till then give leave to me, in pleasant mew
To sport my muse, and sing my loves sweet
praise;
The contemplation of whose heavenly hew,
My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse,
But let her prayses yet be low and meane,
Fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene.
But since ye deignd so goodly to relent
To me your thrall, in whom is little worth;
That little, that I am, shall all be spent
In setting your immortall prayses forth:
Whose lofty argument, uplifting me,
Shall lift you up unto an high degree.
Let not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre Breake out, that may her sacred peace mofest;
Ne one light glance of sensuall desyre
Attempt to work her gentle mindes unrest:
But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest,
And modest thoughts breathd from wel-
tempred sprites,
Goe visit her in her chast bowre of rest
Accompanyde with angelick delightes.
There fill your selfe with those most joyous
sights,
The which my selfe could never yet attayne: But speake no word to her of these sad plights,
Which her too constant stiffenesse doth constrayn.
Onely behold her rare perfection,
And blesse your fortunes fayre election.
The world that cannot deeme of worthy things,
When I doe praise her, say 1 doe but flatter:
So does the Cuckow, when the Mavis sings,
Begin his witlesse note apace to clatter.
But they that skill not of so heavenly matter,
All that they know not envy or admyre;
Rather then envy, let them wonder at her,
But not to deeme of her desert aspyre
Deepe, in the closet of my parts entyre,
Her worth is written with a golden quill,
That me with heavenly fury doth inspire,
And my glad mouth with her sweet prayses
fill.
[shal thunder,
Which when as Fame in her shrill trump
Let the world chose to envy or to wonder.
Venemous toung, tipt with vile adders sting,
Of that selfe kynd with which the Furies fell
Theyr snaky heads doe combe, from which a
spring
Of poysoned words and spitefull speeches well;
Let all the plagues, and horrid paines, of hell
Upon thee fall for thine accursed hyre
That with false forged lyes, which thou didst
tel,
In my true love did stirre up coles of yre;
The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre, And, catching hold on thine owne wicked hed, Consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire
In my sweet peace such breaches to have bred! Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy reward,
Dew to thy selfe, that it for me prepard!
Since I did leave the presence of my love,
Many long weary dayes I have outworne;
And many nights, that slowly seemd to move
Theyr sad protract from evening untill morne.
For, when as day the heaven doth adorne,
I wish that night the noyous day would end:
And, when as night hath us of light forlorne,
I wish that day would shortly reascend.
Thus I the time with expectation spend,
And faine my griefe with chaunges to be-
guile,
That further seemes his terme still to extend,
And maketh every minute seeme a myle.
So sorrow still doth seeme too long to last;
But joyous houres doe fly away too fast.
Since I have lackt the comfort of that light, The which was wont to lead my thoughts astray;
I wander as in darkenesse of the night,
Affrayd of every dangers least dismay.
Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day,
When others gaze upon theyr shadowes vayne,
But th' onely image of that heavenly ray,
Whereof some glance doth in mine eie re-
mayne.
Of which beholding the Idæa playne,
Through contemplation of my purest part,
With light thereof I doe my selfe sustayne,
And thereon feed my love-affamisht hart.
But, with such brightnesse whylest I fill
my mind,
I starve my body, and mine eyes doe blynd.
Lyke as the Culver, on the bared bough,
And, in her songs, sends many a wishfull vow
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate;
For his returne that seemes to linger late:
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourne to my selfe the absence of my love;
And, wandring here and there all desolate,
Seek with my playnts to match that mournful
Ne joy of ought that under heaven doth hove
dove.
Can comfort me, but her owne joyous sight:
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can
In her unspotted pleasauns to delight.
Dark is my day, whyles her fayre light I mis,
And dead my life that wants such lively blis.
See! thou thyselfe likewise art lyttle made,
If thou regard the same.
And yet thou suffrest neyther gods in sky,
Nor men in earth, to rest:
But, when thou art disposed cruelly,
Theyr sleepe thou doost molest.
Then eyther change thy cruelty.
Or give like leave unto the fly.'
Nathelesse, the cruell boy, not so content,
Would needs the fly pursue;
And in his hand, with heedlesse hardiment,
Him caught for to subdue.
But, when on it he hasty hand did lay,
The Bee him stung therefore :
'Now out alasse, he cryde, and wel-away!
I wounded am full sore:
The Fly, that I so much did scorne,
Hath hurt me with his little horne.'
Full many thou hast pricked to the hart,
That pitty never found:
Therefore, henceforth some pitty take,
When thou doest spoyle of lovers make.'
She tooke him streight full pitiously lamenting,
And wrapt him in her smock:
She wrapt him softly, all the while repenting
That he the fly did mock.
She drest his wound, and it embaulmed wel
With salve of soveraigne might:
And then she bath'd him in a dainty well,
The well of deare delight.
Who would not oft be stung as this,
To be so bath'd in Venus blis?
The wanton boy was shortly wel recured
Of that his malady:
But he, soone after, fresh againe enured
His former cruelty.
Unto his mother straight he weeping came,
And of his griefe complayned:
Who could not chose but laugh at his fond
Though sad to see him pained.
'Think now (quod she) my sonne, how great So now I languish, till he please
Of those whom thou dost wound: [t
[the smart My pining anguish to appease.
And since that time he wounded hath my
With his sharpe dart of love:
[selfe
And now forgets the cruell carelesse elfe
[game, His mothers heast to prove.
YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, [rymes, Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull And long since ready forth his maske to move,
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne With his bright Tead that flames with many
To heare theyr names sung in your simple
But joyed in theyr praise;
[layes, And many a bachelor to waite on him,
And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne, In theyr fresh garments trim.
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did
Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight,
For lo! the wished day is come at last,
That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes past,
Pay to her usury of long delight :
And, whylest she doth her dight,
Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your
eccho ring.
Bring with you all the Nymphes that you can
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene,
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare:
Al with gay girlands goodly wel beseene.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland,
For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses,
Bound truelove wize, with a blew silke riband.
And let them make great store of bridale poses,
And let them eeke bring store of other flowers, My love is now awake out of her dreames, To deck the bridale bowers. [tread, And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed
And let the ground whereas her foot shall
For feare the stones her tender foot should
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,
And diapred lyke the discolored mead.
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,
For she will waken strayt;
The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing,
The woods shall to you answer, and your Eccho
ring.
Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull
The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well,
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed;
[beams
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere.
Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight,
Helpe quickly her to dight:
[ begot,
But first come ye fayre houres, which were
In Joves sweet paradice of Day and Night;
Which doe the seasons of the yeare allot,
And al, that ever in this world is fayre,
Doe make and still repayre: [Queene,
And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian
The which doe still adorne her beauties pride,
Helpe to addorne my beautifullest bride:
And, as ye her array, still throw betweene
Some graces to be seene;
(Those trouts and pikes all others doo ex-And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake,
Where none doo fishes take;
light,
Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd
And in his waters, which your mirror make,
Behold your faces as the christall bright,
That when you come whereas my love doth lie,
No blemish she may spie.
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the
dore,
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre;
And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to
devoure,
[neer;
With your steele darts doo chace from comming
Be also present heere,
To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your
eccho ring.
Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time;
The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed,
All ready to her silver coche to clyme;
And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed.
Hark! how the cheerefull birds do chaint
theyr laies
And carroll of Loves praise.
The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft;
The Thrush replyes; the Mavis descant playes:
The Ouzell shrills; the Ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this dayes merriment.
Ah! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus
long,
When meeter were that ve should now awake,
I' awayt the comming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds love-learned song,
The deawy leaves among!
Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
That all the woods them answer, and theyr
eccho ring.
The whiles the woods shal answer, and your
eccho ring.
Now is my love all ready forth to come:
Let all the virgins therefore well awayt:
And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome,
Prepare your selves; for he is comming strayt.
Set all your things in seemely good aray,
Fit for so joyfull day:
The joyfulst day that ever sunne did see.
Faire Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy lifull heat not fervent be,
For feare of burning her sunshyny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.
O fayrest Phoebus! father of the Muse !
If ever I did honour thee aright,
Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,
Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse,
But let this day, let this one day, be myne;
Let all the rest be thine.
Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing,
That all the woods shal answer, and theyr
eccho ring.
Harke: how the Minstrils gin to shrill aloud
Their merry Musick that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Croud,
That well agree withouten breach or jar.
But, most of all, the Damzels doe delite.
When they their tymbrels smyte,
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,
That all the sences they doe ravish quite;
The whyles the boyes run up and downe the
street,
Crying aloud with strong confused noyce,
As if it were one voyce,
Hymen, iö Hymen, Hymen, they do shout;
That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;
To which the people standing all about,
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